I once decided with a friend (at the time of the USSR) from Yalta to Gurzuf, on a boat, they previously walked along the Crimean coast as buses. Well, we didn't guess with the weather, and the captain didn't guess, in short - we got into a weak storm, and what meant us about the rocks did not fade, the driver of this dish decided to take a little moristee, well and took... The whole boat blew, long and stubbornly, and my friend fell asleep and thought... Well, I led him into the gallion, on the dancing under his feet, wet deck, which in itself was already a fun attraction. It was even more fun... but only to me... he wasn’t laughing, he had time to take off his pants and sit down, here the boiler swirled on the wave, the door of the gallion opened and he flew out into the corridor, with the ports dropped, convulsively clinging to the ropes for the wall-faced orders... he squeezed on the opposite wall and squeezed, squeezed. Then, according to all the laws of physics - the ship moved back, the friend flew inside and the door behind him, with a stunning shot shut down! I was already wildly rotting, but when this whole scene, almost instantly repeated... and then again, and again, and again... and so for 2-3 minutes... I was hysterical to tears. I got stuck in some iron and cried out of laughter! A friend... he was still long, several years, did not want to remember this trip, offended. Yes to! He never did anything... he wandered.